


Out of the Eastern Sea

by geekprincess26



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Based on The Chronicles of Narnia, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Remix, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: Lady Sansa, daughter of a fallen star and his human wife, lives on an enchanted island at the edge of the world with her father while his youth is being restored to him.  She once believed that the Lord of Light would send her a handsome knight to be her husband and companion once her father was young enough to return to the sky.  Then she saw just how cruel handsome knights could be.  Now she has contented herself with facing the long centuries ahead of her with Lady, her direwolf, as her only company.Then a strange ship sails into the harbor of Sansa's island, bearing three monarchs from a strange land to the west.  They say they have come to break the enchantment that chains three of their friends to the island's ancient stone table.The spell was none of Sansa's doing, and she would gladly help the wolf twins and the dragon king reverse it.  It's not her fault that the strange, sad dragon king frightens her, or that he blames her for his friends' plight - or, for that matter, that Lady loves Ghost, the king's direwolf, as much as his master resents her.But if handsome knights can be other than they seemed, so too can brooding dragon kings.





	Out of the Eastern Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 ("Book Couples") of the 2017 Jon x Sansa Remix. I chose King Caspian and Ramandu's daughter (Lilliandil) from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the third novel in C.S. Lewis's classic series The Chronicles of Narnia.

The blue and gold hill began to tremble underneath the Lady Sansa’s feet. She sighed and stomped one bare foot on the ground, for she knew what to expect next.

 

As if that did any good, she thought bitterly. She stopped humming – right before the crescendo of the song, as always. Her fingertips stopped just short of stroking the blue rose in front of her – which she had been within an inch of picking, as always. For a moment she considered plucking it anyway, but the ground only shook harder, and the rumbling noise began, and Sansa sighed. She gave the rose a last glance of regret before picking up her skirts and gliding off through the golden grass toward the hill that meant home and the sea and Father and another long, empty day.

 

No sooner had Sansa’s hand touched the door than it gave way in front of her, as always, and she awoke at once to find herself staring into the gaze of Lady, her only companion apart from Father. The silver wolf ceased her growling at once, as always, and laid her head on Sansa’s pallet. Sansa stroked it as she reached for the candlestick on her bedside table. She sighed again. The same dream had troubled her every night for the past seventeen years. Perhaps _troubled_ was the wrong word, for no matter how many times she opened the door of her hillside abode, she found herself enchanted anew by the waves of golden grass and the jewel-blue of the roses, and she could not help but sing as she danced her way through them. But the notes of her song were not quite her own; they skipped and whirled like a rushing brook, so unlike the deep, aching melody of the Song of the Dawn, which she and Father sang together as the sun rose over the Eastern Sea every morning. Her feet stepped in strange patterns more suited to a partners’ dance, which was ridiculous because of course Sansa had no partner. And Sansa’s hand never quite reached the rose she tried to pick before she awoke. Lady’s growl always interrupted her at the last moment, and today was no different.

 

Sansa quickly donned her pale blue gown and crept out of her room into the low earthen passageway that led to the dwelling’s front door. She spared a glance toward the back of the house, where a warm gray glow emanated from her father’s chambers. The glow, which was so bright she could find her way to the front hearth and set a fire by its light, had strengthened, as always, since this time yesterday. It grew brighter every morning, after they had sung through the sunrise and the swallow had descended from the sky to drop another fireberry onto the Lord Eddard’s tongue. For the Lord Eddard was in fact not a true man but a star, a star who had aged nearly to oblivion before he had plummeted a century ago to the Lion’s Island in the Eastern Sea to take human form and regain his strength. There he had made his home, and there the swallow had visited him every morning to feed him a berry plucked fresh from the sun. Each berry lessened his age by a year – a mere drop in the ocean of the centuries of the Lord Eddard’s existence, but a drop nonetheless.

 

The Lord Eddard had lived in his hillside abode on the Lion’s Island for many years after that, surrounded by verdant hills and forests and tinkling brooks. Eventually, however, as time had worn on and his youth and vigor had begun to return, he had grown lonely. He had prayed often to the Lord of Light, the great deity whom the stars believed had created all things in the universe, for a fellow star to fall to the Lion’s Island to join him as his friend and companion. But the Lord of Light – whom Father almost always called the Lion, since the Lord was said to appear sometimes on the island in the form of a great lion – had not answered Eddard’s prayers at first, and he had almost given up hope. Then one day, many years into his stay on the island, the remnants of a boat had floated ashore, and he had found a beautiful red-haired woman clinging to them. She had been no star at all, only Catelyn Tully, the entirely human survivor of a recent shipwreck; but once he had fed her and tended to her injuries, he had found her a most intelligent, kind, witty, and altogether pleasant companion. By morning, the had stood side by side in the meadow next to the Lord Eddard’s abode and she had sung with him in her ringing, pure voice the Song of the Dawn; by day, he had shown her the island and its many rivers and forests and meadows; and by night they had spent long nights laughing and talking in front of his hearth. He had told her the lore of the stars, and she had regaled him with tales of her adventures as a ship captain’s daughter in the wide world west of the Lion’s Island.

 

They had married not long after Catelyn’s arrival on the island, and had lived there in bliss for several years. Their happiness had ended abruptly when Lady Catelyn had died birthing their daughter, a squalling little girl who from the very first had been the very image of her mother, and Lord Eddard had wept as he had buried her next to her favorite stream, back behind the hill and near the great stone table on which the Dawn Feast was laid every day. His great sorrow over his dead wife had never left him, but it had faded as he had raised the beautiful little girl she had given him and named Sansa with her dying breath. Every morning, he would hold the little girl in his arms and sing with her to welcome the sunrise, and after the swallow had given him his fireberry and he had fed his daughter from the table’s bounty, he would show her another tree or stream or field of flowers. Every afternoon he would take her to lay goldenrod or geraniums or white sea-lilies on the Lady Catelyn’s grave. Every evening, he would read to her about history or geography or science or mythology from one of the books in the glass shelved built into the wall next to the hearth. And every night, before singing her to sleep, he would pray that the Lion would keep watch over his daughter and send her a companion of her own when he had regained his youth and ascended into the sky once more; for Sansa had inherited his long life, but not the fiery essence at the core of every star’s being, and she would never be able to shine in the night expanse at his side. Once he had left the island, she would be utterly alone for all the long ages of her existence.

 

One afternoon, when Sansa was approaching her sixth name day, another piece of wreckage from an entirely different ship had washed onto the island’s shore. They had found a whimpering wolf pup perched atop it, a furry little whining thing with a silver coat that glimmered in the sun and warm gray eyes to match. Sansa had taken the pup under her wing at once, naming her Lady and spoiling her every day with morsels from the great stone table. Lady, for her part, had taken Sansa under her own wing, or paw, as it were. In the mornings she leaped and loped through woods and fields at her mistress’s side. In the afternoons, she laid her head gently on Sansa’s lap when the girl knelt at her mother’s graveside, and Sansa found great comfort in stroking the gentle beast’s fur. In the evenings, she fetched the basket containing Sansa’s latest sewing project from the shelf across the room while Sansa found a book for Father, and then curled up next to Sansa when Father read aloud to them both from tales of gallant knights and beautiful princesses in the world to the west.

 

The night Lady had come to them was the first night Sansa had dreamed of the golden grass and blue roses, and the following morning, it had been Lady’s whining that had awakened her from the dream. Every night after that, Sansa had had the same dream, and every morning Lady had awakened her. At first she did not know what to make of it, for the island had not a stalk of gold grass on it, and she had not even known such flowers as blue roses existed. When Sansa had told Father of it, he had placed a gentle hand on her head and smiled, although the smile was heavier than usual with the gray sorrow that so often lingered in the depths of his eyes. He had stared gravely out over the sea for a few minutes before speaking.

 

“I should not let it trouble you, sweetling,” he had finally said, stooping to look straight into her eyes. “It may be nothing, or proof of your heart’s joy over your new companion.” His gaze veered toward the sea again. Its waves had turned gray under a cloudy sky, and Sansa marveled at how his own silver eyes deepened and darkened to match them. It startled her, but only for a moment; and her father turned back to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“Or,” he finally said, “it might be a sign from the Lion that he will send you another companion, as he did me. But I do not know.” His eyes lightened again, and their corners crinkled as he smiled and chucked her under the chin. “At present, sweetling, I should not worry. I am glad you have pleasant dreams to dance and sing to; and the Lion watches over us both.”

 

He had said no more, but Sansa had felt a strange thrill in her stomach at the mention of another companion. True, Lady’s arrival had brought her a great joy and a faithful friend, and Sansa thanked the Lion for his gift every night when she prayed. But Lady could not speak to her or sing with her, or tuck her into bed with gentle kisses as Father did. Nor could Lady read to her from the books of tales from the West that Sansa so loved, or discuss whether the story of Aemon the Dragonknight was lovelier than the story of Florian and Jonquil. Both stories came from Sansa’s favorite book, _The Legends of Westeros_ , which contained much lore from the continent closest to the western end of the world. The way the books told it, Westeros was a lush land covered with hills and forests much like the Lion’s Island, and castles overflowing with great lords and ladies and noble knights adorned its every ridge and valley; and dragons, the great beasts brought to Westeros by the first Targaryen king, swooped and soared through the skies above them. The lords and ladies held banquets even more lavish than the feast that adorned the great stone table every night, and the handsome knights who turned up at those banquets held great tournaments full of thundering horses and clashing swords, and the knight who won each tournament would give a kiss and a blazing smile and a wreath of flowers to whichever lady there he deemed most beautiful. Such stories made Sansa blush, especially as she grew older and noticed her body changing into that of a woman. Perhaps, she thought, the Lion would send her one of those handsome knights to be her companion and husband, as he had sent Mother to be Father’s companion and wife; and perhaps the knight would weave a crown of primroses or lilies for Sansa every day and kiss her and whisper that he loved her even more than Florian had loved Jonquil.

 

Sansa did not speak to Father much of her hopes; but on occasion she would ask if he thought the Lion might send her a beaming, golden-haired knight if she prayed very hard for one. Every time, Father would give her one of those sad smiles of his.

 

“The Lion will send whom he chooses, sweetling,” he would say. “Your mother was no lady of rank, and not another fallen star as I had first hoped; but it mattered not to me, for she was kind and loving and brave, and the best companion I could ever have wished for.” His gray gaze would soften, and he would put a gentle hand to her shoulder. “If the Lion sends you a companion, it will be a man who is brave and gentle and strong and worthy of you.”

 

Sansa would smile back, but say little if anything. Surely, when her knight washed up on the shore of their island, Father would understand that the Lion had sent her the perfect husband indeed.

 

Not long after Sansa’s sixteenth name day, an enormous ship gilded with golden trimmings had settled into the inlet not far from where Sansa and her father lived. Leaping black stags ran rampant across its sun-yellow sails, and the party of knights who disembarked onto the island wore black armor and bore golden shields with the same stag sigil on them. At their head strode a young man perhaps Sansa’s age with as fine a head of golden hair as she had ever seen. He introduced himself as Lord Joffrey Baratheon of Westeros and smiled as he bent to kiss her hand; and Sansa beamed back at him and thought the Lion had sent her knight at last.

 

But the Lion’s knight, Sansa soon realized, was no right companion at all. He had been pleasant enough at first and shown her father the greatest courtesies when he asked for the Lord Eddard’s permission to court his daughter, whom the Lord Joffrey proclaimed was more beautiful than any lady in all of Westeros. The Lord Eddard’s eyes narrowed at this; but he nevertheless gave the Lord Joffrey and his men leave to hold a tournament in Sansa’s honor on the wide beach across the island. At first Sansa was thrilled; but neither Father nor Lady warmed to the Lord Joffrey, nor he to them, as she had first hoped. In fact, he spent much of his time with her belittling his men, and complaining at how the beach was too rustic for a proper tournament, and rolling his eyes at what he called the quaintness of the stone table’s daily feast. One day, rolled his eyes at Lady and asked Sansa why in the Seven Kingdoms a grown woman such as she had to have a wild animal about her at all times, like a watchdog.

 

“She’s a direwolf, my lord, and the Lion himself sent her to me for a companion,” Sansa explained, and drew closer to her growling friend’s side. The Lord Joffrey rolled his eyes again, and Sansa could not help but wonder if he would cease his behavior once the tournament was over.

 

But he did not. He fought mercilessly during the tournament and wounded some of his own men; and at the end Sansa was glad she sat next to her father, for his stern gaze at the Lord Joffrey ensured that the latter’s lips barely brushed Sansa’s cheek rather than meeting her own. She still reluctantly accepted his invitation to dance at the feast afterward; but he gripped her shoulder and her hip too tightly, and when she protested, he dragged her away from the men and into a nearby grove of trees. He pushed her up against one and began to kiss her roughly. Sansa wriggled and fought and tried to cry out; but the Lord Joffrey clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make a noise. He laughed and sneered at the tears that poured out of her eyes and onto his hand as he reached for her skirt with his other hand. Sansa did not know exactly what he meant to do, but she knew it must be something terrible; and she kicked and scratched furiously at him. She broke his hold just long enough to see two of his knights bursting into the grove, and she pleaded in great gasps for their help, but the men only leered at her, and barely had her eyes had time to widen in horror before one of them seized her and slammed her roughly back against the tree. Sansa kicked his shin and tumbled free of his grip, but the other knight and the Lord Joffrey pinned her to the ground. His knight slapped her so hard that her head spun, and her limbs would not obey her commands to fight. The first knight, having regained his footing, shoved the heel of his hand into her mouth as Lord Joffrey and the other knight shoved her skirts upward and tore at the laces on the front of her dress. Suddenly, Lord Joffrey’s hand released her thigh, and she heard growling and shrieking, and she raised her head just in time to see Lady pinning the Lord Joffrey to the ground and sinking her teeth into his shoulder. The young lord screamed again, and the blood pouring out of his shoulder was suddenly illuminated by a fierce silver glow, and just before Sansa lost her consciousness, she saw the Lord Eddard, his body blazing with a star’s wrath, dashing to her side.

 

By the time Sansa awoke, the Lord Joffrey and both knights were dead. Their blood was still fresh on Lady’s jaws and Lord Eddard’s cloak as the Lord Joffrey’s remaining men threw their belongings onto the ship and leaped to its oars to hasten away from the Lion’s Island.

 

No more did Sansa pray for a knight, or a husband, or indeed any kind of companion after that. Father’s eyes welled with hurt when she told him she intended not to pray again, whether to the Lion or anyone else; but he said little as he reached over to take her in his arms, other than to whisper about how sorry he was for what had happened to her, how sorry he was for not protecting her better.

 

Some time later, another ship had landed on the shore of the Lion’s Island. Its sails were in tatters and its timbers barely holding together. A few minutes later, out of it clambered three filthy, emaciated men with deadened gazes. Their eyes sprang to life when they saw the feast spread out upon the stone table; and before Father could step forward to welcome them, they had leaped to the edge of the table and begun stuffing their mouths with all the food they could reach. None of them noticed Father until they had downed at least a leg of mutton and a flagon of wine apiece. Sansa hung back, wary, as he greeted them; but they were too dazed and frightened even to draw their own swords. Lady, crouched at Sansa’s side, only whined with more pity than even her mistress could muster instead of growling, and Sansa finally decided it was safe to approach the four men.

 

The three strangers looked even weaker and dirtier up close than they had from a distance, and their voices sounded hoarse from disuse. According to the tale they managed to rasp out, their names were Lord Seaworth, Lord Giantsbane, and Lord Clegane, and they had set out from Westeros with four other lords some ten years previously. Lord Viserys Targaryen, Protector of the Realm and caretaker to the young King Jon, had ordered them to travel as far east as they could – to the edge of the world, if possible – and document every land and river they found, as well as all the strange plants and animals they encountered, so the mapmakers and maesters of Westeros could profit. All seven lords had known, grunted Lord Giantsbane, that what the Lord Protector had truly wanted was to rid the land of those who had been most faithful to his brother Rhaegar Targaryen; for it was widely rumored that the Lord Protector had had King Rhaegar murdered in a bid to take the throne, or at least the regency of its heir, for himself. The lords had wished to stay in Westeros and watch over King Jon, of course; but refusing the Lord Protector’s command meant certain death, and so they had reluctantly obeyed him.

 

They had spent the next ten years, said Lord Seaworth, suffering any number of misadventures and losing four of their comrades. The Lord Greyjoy had left them in the Iron Islands to marry a girl he had met there; the Lord Dondarrion had wandered off to explore a dragon’s den in Essos and disappeared; the Lord Waters had gone swimming in a lake that they discovered to their horror turned everything that touched its waters into solid gold; and the Lord Thoros had been swept off the ship in a storm and never heard from again.

 

“And here we are, the three cowards left behind,” muttered the Lord Seaworth, picking at a loaf of bread.

 

“Cowards?” barked Lord Clegane. “Cowards? We have fought giants. We have bested dragons. We have battled invisible warriors and lived to tell the tale. We may be unfortunate wretches, but do not say we are craven.” His hand reached for the hilt of his sword, and Sansa, startled, stepped backward.

 

“Daft fool,” rumbled the Lord Giantsbane, cuffing him on the back of the head. “What he bloody means is we’ve failed to protect King Jon. We should have turned back to fight the Lord Protector instead of fleeing Westeros with our tails between our ass cheeks.” He fingered the axe hanging at his belt. “And the sooner we get our vessel repaired, if this lord will assist us – ” he inclined his head at Lord Eddard – “the sooner we can set our cravenness to rights.”

 

“Cravenness?” Lord Clegane drew his sword ringing out of its sheath. It was well nigh rusted over, but Sansa took another step backward anyway. “Cravenness? You think we could have done anything for the King? You think we can do anything for him now? More than likely his uncle slew him and took the crown years ago, especially if the Lady Daenerys ever gave him a son of his own.”

 

“I care not!” Lord Seaworth shook his fist straight in front of Lord Clegane’s face. “We swore before the Lion to serve King Rhaegar, and he the one decent Targaryen of his House. We swore before the Lion to protect his son, and if there is still a chance his son needs protecting, I will do it! You can stay here and sulk all you like, Ser Hound; but I will repair our ship myself and pry it out of your dead hands if I must!”

 

Lord Clegane lunged at him; but Lord Seaworth dodged the bigger man’s fists. His eyes widened when he saw the ancient stone knife perched in the middle of the table. Sansa began to scream for him not to touch it, but it was too late. The man’s palm swiped against the knife’s hilt, and before his fingers could grasp it, all three lords collapsed unconscious in front of the table.

 

Sansa’s father wrangled the three lords later that day into three chairs in front of the table, and there they sat snoring while their hair and beards grew and their nails lengthened. Eventually Sansa became accustomed to singing the Song of the Dawn every morning in their ghostly presence. She wondered sometimes if any more visitors would come to break the men’s enchanted sleep. Part of her pitied them and wished for them to be set free to return to Westeros and help set things to rights, although she often wondered based on the Lord Joffrey’s disastrous visit whether anything in Westeros had ever been at rights in the first place. The other part of her did not want to see the sails of another ship on the shores of the island for the rest of her days, even if Father did leave her all alone there with Lady. But that would mean living for centuries at the edge of the world with no father and no mother and no human companionship of any kind, and despite what had happened with the Lord Joffrey, that thought would make Sansa cry herself to sleep.

 

Sansa was snapped out of her memories by the abrupt cessation of Lady’s growl. The direwolf trotted about the room, sniffing the air, as her mistress lit the hearth fire and touched her candle to it. Sansa threw a bemused look at her companion, who then began whining and pawing at the door. Sansa opened it at once, and Lady leaped out and turned tail for the stone table, yipping joyfully as she did so. Sansa, who had never seen such excitement from her companion even when feeding her treats as a pup, sped after the wolf as quickly as she could with one hand full of skirts and the other holding her candle. When she drew close enough for it to illuminate the stone table, Sansa stopped cold in her tracks.

 

Perhaps a dozen people, all very much awake, sat on either side of the tables, staring warily at the food. A few of them carried torches, and one, a raven-haired girl who looked a bit younger than Sansa, was speaking in a low voice to a young man with a head of dark red curls. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she giggled. Sansa, who had not herself laughed in years, drew back, startled. Her eyes fell on the man sitting next to the redhead. His hair was as black as the girl’s and as curly as her companion’s, and a thin silver circlet rested atop his head. As he shifted to speak to the red-headed man, the torchlight caught the tunic he wore over his chainmail, and Sansa gasped.

 

The tunic was black as the man’s hair, except for the profile of the three-headed dragon emblazoned upon it in scarlet thread. Three claws stretched toward the edge of the tunic, and each of them held aloft a blue rose identical to the one Sansa tried to pick every morning in her dreams.

 

It took an exceptionally loud bout of yipping to tear Sansa’s gaze away from the man’s armor. Her cheeks reddened as she met his gaze, which was startled and stern and somber all at once. It reminded her of the time Father had caught her painting a page of one of his books with berry juice, and she quickly averted her eyes. She gasped again when they discovered the source of the yipping.

 

In between the dark-haired man and Lady, who had leaped to his side, stood a monstrous white direwolf. His eyes were as scarlet as the thread on the man’s tunic, and they may have frightened Sansa had they not been trained on Lady, who was whining and licking the other direwolf’s face as though greeting a long-lost friend.


End file.
